


Happy Tears

by Bofur1



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Christmas Fluff, Sweet Bifur, slight drunkenness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas for the family of miners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Tears

**Author's Note:**

> *nadad: brother

Yuletide had come to the Lonely Mountain. The King, Thorin Oakenshield, had bid everyone spend time with their families and friends. Not many knew that there was a special dinner for thirteen particular Dwarves, the Traveling Company. They had spent the night talking, drinking, and singing, and then all had gone their separate ways. The three Broadbeam miners, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, were preparing to sleep. At least, Bofur and Bombur were.

“A great feast t’night, wasn’t it?” Bofur sighed, his intonation slurred with ale. “I don’t think I’ll need t’ eat fer at least three days.” As he stripped off his shirt, he frowned at his reflection in the mirror on the wall. “Hmm. Better not eat that much again or people’ll start mistakin’ th’ two o’ us fer twins, Bombur.”

Bofur was answered by a thwack upside the head, gentle enough to only muss his hair slightly. “It would be good for you to get some meat on your bones, _nadad_.”

“I have more’n enough meat on m’ bones,” Bofur mumbled as he kicked off his boots.

Bombur raised an eyebrow. “And enough ale sloshing in your head to get all three of us stoned.”

“Aye,” Bofur agreed absently, not registering what Bombur had said. “And now it’s time fer bed,” he added with a jaw-cracking yawn.

The door to the privy opened abruptly and Bifur rushed out, shaking his head so hard his braids and earrings whipped his face.

“What are you saying, Bifur?” Bombur asked, perplexed. Bifur rolled his eyes and planted his hands on his hips. Bombur recalled suddenly. “Oh.” He glanced at Bofur with a smile and explained in one word: “Gifts.”

Bofur began tugging his braids loose. “Aw, I dunno, Bif, it’s kinda late an’ all...”

Bifur wasn’t listening. He’d already disappeared into the closet, where their Yuletide presents were hidden. ‘Hidden’ wasn’t exactly the word; Bofur and Bombur always knew Bifur put them there, but they wanted to keep their cousin believing otherwise for as long as they could. It was sweet of him to find them something every year without anything in return. Bifur had long ago said sternly that all he wanted for Yule was to see them open their things and be happy. Even the axe in his forehead couldn’t change his mind about that.

Bifur soon emerged with two boxes and motioned with his head to the floor. Bofur and Bombur obediently sat, and he placed one of the boxes in each of their laps. Bifur blinked, and his brow furrowed in confusion. All of a sudden, he couldn’t remember which Bofur’s was and which Bombur’s was. When he switched them it still didn’t look right. His cousins waited patiently, but Bifur could see Bofur struggling to swallow another yawn.

Flushing in embarrassment, Bifur looked them up and down repeatedly and jiggled one of them a bit. Nodding confirmation, he shoved it hastily at Bofur and the other at Bombur. Then he sat in front of them and waited.

Bombur hesitantly began to undo the many clumsy knots Bifur had tied in the bow on his present. He wondered what strange gift Bifur had given him this time. Last year he’d gotten a fine wooden cup that Bifur had carved himself. However, Bifur had the outlandish idea to fill the cup with molasses. The thick liquid had overflowed and dried onto the box. He’d had to throw the whole thing away, and Bifur had been distraught. Bombur prayed that whatever it was this time would not be sticky.

When Bombur opened it, he gave a gasp. Bifur startled; he’d inadvertently been slipping into one of his trances as he waited, but he soon forgot it when Bombur gave him a big smile.

“It’s beautiful, Bifur! Where on earth was it made?” It was a large leather book, perfect for Bombur’s many recipes and cooking secrets. On further investigation Bombur found that Bifur had written in very shaky handwriting on the inside cover. There were a lot of words that were scribbled out and the ink had smeared, but Bombur felt his heart ache when he read:

_For ~~Bummburr~~ Bombur.  Even if you aren’t ~~litel~~ little ~~enamor~~ anymore, you will ~~alwaz~~ be my little ~~cuzinn~~ cousin._

Bombur looked up through a mist of tears and Bifur was instantly dismayed. He snatched the book away, likely intending to rip it to shreds for making Bombur cry.

“No!” Bombur yelped, grabbing it back. “I want to keep this.”

Bifur was very confused. He made a quick sign in iglishmêk that Bombur knew to be ‘tears’. Bombur replied with a smile and the same sign: ‘happy tears’. Bifur breathed a sigh of relief and handed him a hanky.

Bofur tipped open his box and his eyes widened. For a long time he stared at it, silent. After a while Bombur leaned over, trying to peek inside.

“What is it?” he asked tentatively. A dead snake? An old apple core? Was Bofur silent because he hated it, or was too stunned to speak?

Bifur hurriedly took his hanky from Bombur and handed it to Bofur, who sniffed and made a quick swipe at his eyes. “Bifur...ye found it...an’ patched it up,” Bofur said in a voice thick with emotion. “It—it looks brand new!”

Inside the box was his floppy leather hat. After the Battle of the Five Armies, Bofur had regained consciousness to find that the hat Bifur had given him long ago had vanished. It was not among the remains of the battle, therefore a devastated Bofur had at last accepted that it was gone forever. But here it was, the leather polished and the fur fluffed with care that could only have been Bifur’s.

“Thank ye,” Bofur whispered as he pulled the hat onto his head. After a moment, he lunged forward and threw his arms around Bifur’s neck. Bombur soon followed suit.

If one had opened the door to the Broadbeam family’s room that night, they would have seen three quiet, teary cousins embracing amidst the ruins of boxes, hopelessly knotted bows, and string. However, no one disturbed them. They were left in peace, and all was quiet within the white-capped Lonely Mountain.

 


End file.
